


Compartmentalising

by NeurotropicAgentX



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Antagonism, Exes, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 11:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17745272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeurotropicAgentX/pseuds/NeurotropicAgentX
Summary: Drake was very good at drawing clear lines between business concerns and personal ones. Usually.





	Compartmentalising

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](https://venomkink.dreamwidth.org/1142.html?thread=2934#cmt2934) prompt on [ Venomkink](http://venomkink.dreamwidth.org/). I have now filled all the prompts involving Drake and/or Riot on that kinkmeme. I still check to see if there are any new ones pretty regularly. Just putting that out there. 
> 
> Many thanks to my editor for her invaluable assistance.

Drake was going to fire his publicist. What had possessed her to set up the interview with _Brock_ of all people? Any other reporter would have known what the deal was. This was a softball interview for Drake to smile into the cameras and reassure the public in between moments of light, humanising banter. Brock didn’t do softball. Brock had his little self-righteous report where he tilted at windmills and generally made a nuisance of himself. Drake knew this because in weak moments of nostalgia he occasionally watched an episode of the Brock Report.

It didn’t count as keeping tabs on an ex if they were a public figure. 

Drake responded to the first easy questions on autopilot. He forced himself to look into the cameras and smile. Otherwise he’d be looking at Brock. And remembering. Their relationship had been… turbulent, to say the least. Even back then, they really hadn’t been compatible. He’d found Brock infuriatingly stubborn, utterly tactless and bizarrely self-righteous. Brock had apparently found him infuriatingly stubborn, aloof and morally bankrupt. Or at least that’s what they’d screamed at each other between rounds of truly spectacular make-up sex. 

What should have been a brief fling based on incomprehensible attraction had ended up dragging out for months and months. Maybe Drake had needed someone who could match his stubbornness. Maybe it was just the volatile bedroom chemistry. Either way, Brock still looked good, however many years on. That sharp smile of his should have been setting off warning bells in Drake’s head, but instead he found himself wondering if it still tasted the same. 

Then the hardball questions came out and Drake fumbled. For the first time in years he was caught completely wrong-footed. These weren’t the usual baseless accusations, Brock _knew_. How had he found out about the human experiments? 

Drake mishandled the questions, right in front of the cameras. Brock scented blood in the water and closed in. ‘This interview is over,’ Drake snapped. The cameras stopped rolling because their operators were smart, professional people who understood the consequences of their actions. 

Drake pinched the bridge of his nose instead of glaring at Brock. It was still an infuriating tell and he cursed his inability to compartmentalise. Even faced with a press leak, Drake would have handled that better if it had been anyone other than Eddie fucking Brock. Security stepped forward and grabbed Brock, but he didn’t take his eyes off Drake. The angry heat in his gaze was nearly palpable and all too familiar. 

‘Don’t throw him out,’ Drake said to his security. He let his hand fall away and turned to look directly at Brock. ‘I’ll be happy to answer a few more of your questions if you’ll answer a couple of mine. Without the cameras.’ He gave his public smile, the expression not quite sitting right on his face. Damn Brock. 

Brock belligerently shrugged his arm out of the security guard’s grip. ‘Really,’ he said flatly.

Drake glanced at his watch. ‘I can be in conference room eight in forty minutes. Louise? Please escort Mr Brock there or out. His choice.’ He forced himself not to look back as he went off with his PA to make room in his schedule and look into the press leak. 

///

Thirty-seven minutes later Drake arrived at conference room eight. He wasn’t surprised that Brock had hung around. The lure of a story would work on any reporter worth their salt. 

Brock had been leaning back in one of the ergonomic chairs with his feet propped on the conference table, but he sprang up as soon as Drake walked in. His jaw clenched. The tendons on his neck were just visible with the strain. Drake wanted to run his tongue over them. He took a deep, steadying breath and buried the impulse. It had been several _years_. Drake was practically a different person. It was pointless to feel that old pull because nothing good would come from being drawn back into Brock’s orbit.

‘So, you came after me. Is this business or personal?’ Drake asked lightly.

Brock gaped at him. He always had such an expressive face. ‘Unethical human experimentation, Drake! Of course it’s business! You’re exactly the sort of asshole my report’s designed to take down.’

‘Alleged human experiments,’ Drake corrected smoothly. ‘You seem awfully certain for someone barging in with no proof. Your source must have been remarkably persuasive.’

Brock paled, guilt written plainly across his face. ‘Whistleblowers are protected under the law,’ he snapped.

Drake sighed to himself. It had taken his people twenty minutes of digging to uncover Brock’s current romantic partner and her ties to the Life Foundation. Brock’s guilt was interesting though. Ms Weying was likely an unwitting accomplice in Brock’s little fact-finding mission. When had he gotten so ruthlessly pragmatic? Maybe Brock had changed too. Drake crushed that line of thinking. He couldn’t let himself get caught up.

‘I’m very familiar with the laws,’ Drake said neutrally. He’d gotten what he’d wanted: confirmation of Brock’s source and the added piece of information that Ms Weying hadn’t betrayed the Life Foundation on purpose. Not that that would change the outcome. Policy was policy. But instead of leaving, Drake found himself waiting to see what Brock would do next.

Brock didn’t even look angry anymore, just tired. He ran a hand through his hair, which changed precisely nothing about its arrangement. ‘Alright. Maybe coming in here and blasting you in front of the cameras wasn’t the best way to go, but kidnapping people off the streets for human experiments? It’s torture. That’s beyond corporate evil. That’s… that’s joining the highlights reel of history’s greatest monsters. You’re better than that, Carlton. Fuck. We used to… I mean you can’t have changed that much. You were always a bit of a bastard, but I can’t believe you’re doing _this_.’ 

Drake closed his eyes for a moment. He should just walk away. He shouldn’t try and engage. He had about as much of a chance of persuading Brock as Brock had of persuading him. ‘I’m not doing anything wrong,’ he said instead.

‘Urgh. I get it, plausible deniability, but you have to–’

‘No. Brock. _Eddie_. Listen. Whatever I’m doing, alleged or otherwise, I am not doing anything wrong. I’m doing what’s necessary. I always have, and always will, do what is absolutely necessary. For everyone.’ He stared Brock dead in the eye as he spoke _willing_ him to understand. 

Brock let out a low shuddering breath. ‘I wish you had just gone plausible deniability. For everyone, huh? What about the people trapped in your torture labs? Are you doing it for them too?’

Drake shrugged. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

Brock shook his head. ‘There’s no getting through to you, is there?’

The corner of Drake’s mouth lifted. It wasn’t a smile. ‘I was thinking much the same thing. You should drop this now if you can’t see things my way.’ That was more warning than he’d give anyone else standing in his way. 

Brock just snorted, completely unfazed by the threat. Quixotic little fool. ‘Sure. That sounds like something I’d do.’

Fierce anger roiled in the pit of Drake’s stomach. He’d forgotten how frustrating Brock could be. His simplistic black and white view of the world would send him bumbling into the sort of trouble that there was no coming back from. He didn’t want to crush Brock, not really, but nostalgic sentiment wasn’t any kind of protection. Not when the stakes were this high.

Drake stepped forward, crowding Brock against the edge of the conference table. Instead of backing up, Brock shifted to meet him halfway, expression going hard. Drake grabbed a handful of Brock’s cheap shirt and Brock wrapped a hand around his wrist. A distant part of Drake noted that Brock still ran hot. Even through the layers of Drake’s suit, the touch seemed to burn. ‘For once in your life do the smart thing. Don’t get involved.’

‘Then stop the experiments,’ Brock said flatly. His mouth was a stubborn line, not a hint of give in his tone or expression. Drake realised he was staring at his lips. They were standing close. How long had it been? Eight years? Ten? He could feel the rise and fall of Brock’s chest against the back of his knuckles. A dozen old arguments and shouting matches played through Drake’s memory. This was the way things had always gone between them. Only the content of the argument had changed. He also remembered how it went from here, like the steps of a familiar dance.

He could see the moment their closeness registered to Brock too. The widening of his eyes and the flush rising in his cheeks were such familiar tells. One of them would snap, close that final distance and change the nature of the fight. The kiss would be more teeth than lips or tongue. Clothes would get half torn as they raced to get to bare skin first. 

Brock exhaled slowly. The warm air tingled against Drake’s lips. Then he swore softly to himself and tugged back on Drake’s wrist. ‘I’m engaged, you asshole. Back off. I wouldn’t do that to her.’

Disappointment clenched hot and sharp in Drake’s guts. ‘ _This_ is where you draw the line?’ He was honestly more astonished than angry. ‘You’ll go through her private documents and jeopardise her career, but you’ll draw the line at _cheating_?’

There was that intriguing flash of guilt again and this time the fear was stronger too. ‘I didn’t–’ Brock started to say.

‘Spare me,’ Drake said, cutting him off. ‘It wasn’t even hard to join the dots and if I’d had any doubts before, your guilty expressions have practically been a confession.’ 

He teetered on the edge for a moment. He could press his advantage, close that distance, sink his teeth into Brock’s soft bottom lip and tug at his hair just the way he liked. Brock would give in. His impulse control was less than useless, especially when someone else was taking the lead. Drake could sink to his knees and have Brock panting his name in less time than it had taken to reschedule his last meeting. And it would give Brock one more reason to hate him. One more reason to walk out of here thinking that Drake was a monster.

He let go of Brock’s shirt and took a step back, getting some distance again. His next exhale was as slow and controlled as he could make it. Brock swallowed. It took a lot of discipline to ignore the appealing bob of his Adam’s apple. 

‘We’re different people now,’ Brock finally said. Maybe that was a hint of wistfulness in his tone. Drake didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. Instead he got in close one last time. He snaked a hand between Brock’s jacket and his shirt, gratified by the hiss of indrawn breath it earned him. If Drake lingered a moment longer than necessary, well, he was only human. He drew out Brock’s recording device. It looked like an old model, cheap, but well loved. And didn’t that just say it all.

He smiled pleasantly at Brock who glared back at him. ‘You can get this back from reception once I’m sure it’s been wiped. When I said I’d talk to you “without the cameras” I meant without the _press_.’

Brock’s jaw worked for a second. ‘I wouldn’t have included any of the personal stuff,’ he finally said. ‘Even someone like you doesn’t deserve having their ex-relationships gawked at in the tabloids.’

Drake stared at him for a long moment, utterly stunned, before shaking his head. ‘Amazing. You genuinely think _that_ matters to me. You could give the press a blow-by-blow account of the New Year’s incident and I wouldn’t care half so much compared to that stunt you pulled earlier.’ Brock had the audacity to stare at him like _Drake_ was the strange one. ‘I’m going to make you regret coming after me,’ Drake continued after a moment. ‘And it won’t be personal. I can promise you that.’

With that he turned around and left. If Brock had a last retort he didn’t manage to get it out before the soundproofed conference room door swung shut. Apparently several years hadn’t been long enough.


End file.
